


[well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making the world a little colder]

by renardroux



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2012-13, Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, Post-Game(s), Rivalry, Vancouver Canucks, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renardroux/pseuds/renardroux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Bolland doesn't always think before he speaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making the world a little colder]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cmk418](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmk418/gifts).



> Thanks to silverspotted for hosting the challenge, cmk418 for the prompt, and slowascent for the beta!

It's not that Dave wasn't expecting to say dumb mean shit on the ice; it's their first game of the year against Vancouver, it's Dave's  _job_  to say dumb mean shit to Henrik Sedin, if theoretically more to try to get him riled enough to take a bunch of stupid stick penalties and less because it's fun. All the same, Dave takes pride in his dumb mean shit—he plans it, he does  _research_ —and nowhere in his plans were the words, "Hey Henrik, how come your brother got all the looks in the family?"  
  
There's an awkward silence. Sedin— _Sedins_ , actually—are staring at him, and so is the linesman, who had actually paused mid-drop and is now eyeing Dave like he's about to cheat in ways the rulebook hasn't even come up with yet. Finally Shawsy clears his throat, and everyone shakes out the cobwebs: the puck drops, and Dave wins it back to Seabs, and they're off.  
  
It doesn't really get better after that. As usual, Vigneault's rolling the Sedin line against Dave's as much as he can, and Dave's chirps keep falling flat after that winner of an opening volley. He tries to just put his head down and focus on winning draws and clearing zones, and that works for a while until Henrik really slowly and obviously elbows Dave in the chest before a D-zone faceoff early in the second period.  
  
"Whoops," he says, and he's backing off and circling away toward the wing before the linesman's even said anything. Daniel skates up to take the draw, yelling something in Swedish back to his brother, and he sounds like he's trying not to laugh. Dave keeps his eyes on the puck. Their faces are really close together. Dave's life is terrible.  
  
Daniel wins the draw. Straight back to Henrik, who one-times the puck past Crawford with an admittedly cool slap shot.   
  
Dave's life is  _terrible._  
  
—•—  
  
Terribleness is the theme of the night, apparently, because they lose; Dave's even plus-minus for the night means it's not on him, but they still left two points on the board and it still fucking sucks. Q's come-to-Jesus speech is a barnburner, Dave is sure, but he just lets it wash over him while he strips his gear off, and heads straight for the bikes as soon as Coach is done. Keith is the only guy who comes with him, the others all peeling off in the other direction to shower, which is just great. Not only are they going to be a bunch of grumpy assholes on the plane, they're going to be a bunch of  _stiff_  grumpy assholes.  
  
Dave's glad it's only Duncan when he realizes it means he won't have to talk, though. They do their cool-down routine in silence, the bike then stretches, and the handful of people who walk by them in their not-quite-out-of-the-way alcove leave them alone. That is, until a pair of loud Swedish voices and the obnoxious squeak of shower shoes on concrete emerge from around the corner.  
  
"Bork bork bork!" says Henrik, kind of shoving Daniel toward them while Daniel resists and grapples back awkwardly. They're both kind of laughing, redfaced, and they're wearing crocs and warm-up shirts with their numbers on them, and it's basically the least dignified thing Dave has ever seen.  
  
"Bork bork bork bork!" Daniel says emphatically. There's a silent, eyebrowy battle of wills and then Daniel stumbles when Henrik abruptly stops manhandling him and steps away.  
  
"Great game, guys," Henrik says, with a dorky wave, then he dashes back the way he came. Dave is suddenly very aware that he's staring while doing a standing glute stretch. He puts his leg down and straightens up. Duncs kind of coughs, and when Dave looks over, he looks more freaked out than one lone Sedin really calls for, except—ohhhh.   
  
"I'm just gonna... go," Duncan says, and he does a really impressive skedaddle.   
  
Dave hasn't been in a social situation this awkward since that one school dance in grade eight that is best not remembered or spoken of.  
  
"It would have been nice if someone had told me the NHL would be exactly like secondary school," Daniel says wryly, in a nice moment of synchronicity. He hops up on the seat of the nearest stationary bike and stares at Dave expectantly.  
  
"I—seriously, why are you here?"  
  
Daniel shrugs. "Henrik thinks he's funny. He wasn't going to let it drop."  
  
"So you're just playing along, then," Dave says, and it's stupid, but he sounds a little disappointed to his own ears.  
  
"Why, were you serious?" Daniel swings a foot out to bump Dave's hip and Dave grabs it, fingers curling around Daniel's fucking hideous shoe. Dave raises an eyebrow, and Daniel raises one back. Stalemate.  
  
Dave throws caution to the wind, then, and walks his fingers up Daniel's leg: rubber shoe, cotton sock, boney ankle. Daniel's other eyebrow flies up to join the first and he jerks his leg away.   
  
"Not here."  
  
—•—  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
They're in one of the smaller trainers' rooms: the kind with just a massage table, some cabinets, and conveniently, a door that locks.  
  
"What do you think?" Dave says. He sounds cockier than he feels.  
  
"I think this explains a lot," Daniel says, and turns away from locking the door to crowd Dave against the wall. Their hips touch; with just their underarmor on there's no disguising either of their intentions.  
  
"You're the tough Canadian guy. Too scared to admit what you want to the sissy Euro?"  
  
Dave  _takes_  what he wants, then: almost more of an attack than a kiss, and he's sliding both palms against Daniel's buzz cut to luxuriate in the satin-fur feel of it even as he tastes the blood from where the clack of their teeth splits Daniel's lip. The kiss is harsh, but it rides the edge of sexy; Daniel's give is just as good as his take. He slides his left hand into Dave's shorts to feel him up and uses the right to hold him down when Dave tries to buck. It's all Dave can do to hang on for the ride, moving his hands down to grip Daniel's shoulders, trying to pay attention to the kiss but mostly failing while Daniel rocks his world. Dave feels helpless to it, caught between the bone-liquefying pace of the handjob and near-languid thoroughness with which Daniel is licking his teeth. His orgasm surprises him, slamming into him like the best kind of whiplash. It leaves him winded.  
  
Daniel backs off, tugging his hand out of Dave's shorts and turning to wash it in the sink. Dave's grateful for the breather, finding himself rattled and not a little brain-dead. He makes a decision before those higher functions return, though, and he drops to his knees when Daniel turns back around with a paper towel in hand. Dave braces his hands on Daniel's thighs, feeling the quads jump under his palms as he walks his fingers up to the waistband. Daniel snickers then, which kind of dims the mood.  
  
"What."  
  
"Nothing," Daniel says, actually laughing now, "Just, now you will know for sure that I'm definitely not a woman."   
  
Dave doesn't dignify that with a response, just tugs Daniel's shorts down, gets a hand on him, and sucks him down. Daniel's hands fly back to grab the counter, knuckles going pink then white in Dave's peripheral vision. Dave doesn't try for anything fancy, just gets into a rhythm with his hand and mouth, enjoying the weight of him and the way everything feels a little sparkly around the edges from the post-orgasm high. Daniel's gratifyingly loud, in contrast to the control he must be exerting to stay so perfectly, coolly still.  
  
"Ah, stop, stop," he says, and Dave pulls off, catching a streak of come on his neck before Daniel musters the coordination to get his paper towel where he needs it. Dave uses the edge of his t-shirt to wipe it off and then takes the hand Daniel offers to help him up. They eye each other for a second before Dave leans in for a last, less aggressive kiss.  
  
"You're going to have to hurry if you want to catch your bus," Daniel says, finally, pushing Dave away. Dave just nods and smooths his t-shirt down, not waiting for any kind of goodbye before he unlocks the door to shamewalk back to the dressing room.  
  
Okay, so maybe the night wasn't  _all_  terrible. 


End file.
